She Was a Bad Girl
by MordantMaenad
Summary: Rory is dead, Amy is dying, and the Eleventh Doctor has entered his regeneration process. Using his eleventh regeneration to save Amy, his twelfth regeneration turns him into something entirely new - a Time Lady.
1. The Doctor Dying

**1. The Doctor Dying**

_ No, no, no, _the Time Lord thought despairingly. _It was never supposed to end like this._

"Amelia Pond!" came a raspy voice. It took a moment for the Doctor to realize the voice was his own. He closed his eyes. That voice sounded like death.

"Doctor, I'm here," his longtime companion croaked. She lay across his thighs, her head resting on the cold metal floor.

"I never—_never_—wanted this, Pond," he muttered. He looked down at his hand. He was still clutching the twisted remains of a sonic screwdriver. Its green lamp hung lifeless in its silver casing. Coughing and spluttering, he let the useless device roll off his fingertips.

Amy opened one eye and looked at the Doctor. For one so close to death, her gaze was piercing. "Doctor," she said. "I know." Then, after a pause: "Rory knew." She shut her eye again.

_Rory! Why did she do it? Why? _He had no strength left for the murderous rage that had boiled in his blood not so long ago. All he had left was a desperate plea.

He breathed heavily. A thin wisp of bright orange vapor escaped his lips.

"It's starting, for me," he said, tears collecting on his eyelids.

"Good, Doctor," Amy whispered. "You live."

"Rory didn't get to live!" the Time Lord said angrily. "You don't get to live, Amelia Pond!" His voice relaxed, but his insides were still knotted. "And when you go, the TARDIS goes too."

"What?" Amy opened both of her eyes in alarm. "What did you say?"

But the Doctor's eyes were closing. He sighed, letting loose another wisp of regeneration energy.

"The light is fading, Amelia…"

"No, it's not, Doctor! The TARDIS is fine, you'll be fine. Just one quick body change, Doctor, and it'll be the boy and his box off to see the universe! Isn't that right?" Amy's voice was going in and out.

"No, Pond," the Doctor said weakly. "The TARDIS consciousness… crack in your wall… something borrowed, something blue…"

"What, Doctor? What are you talking about?" She wrenched her arms out from under her body.

"I thought I could never tell you… I thought I'd never have to." His hands were starting to glow. "Amelia, nobody can just bring back a TARDIS from beyond the fabric of time and space—"

He convulsed. Ripples of yellow-orange flame danced across his body. Amy pushed herself off of the Doctor's legs, and closed her eyes.

"It's going to be now," the Doctor cried. "No! This isn't meant for me!"

"Goodbye, Doctor," Amy said softly. "I… I'm glad I met you. I'm glad I met Rory, and I'm glad I met you."

"Oh, no, no, no, you're relaxing, you can't give up!" The fire engulfing the Time Lord turned an angry red. "Amelia Pond! I cannot let you _die!_"

He cast his thoughts back years and years. What could he do? What could he possibly do, at this moment of all moments?

Nine centuries of memories yielded nothing. The tears started streaming from his eyes as he watched Amy Pond let go. He looked away in anger and shame at his left hand, the hand that was still intact. "Is this it, Pond?" he mumbled. "Is this it, sexy?" Then, even softer:

"What is the _point _of me, then?"

He couldn't bear looking at anything but his hand.

x x x

A few seconds later, an idea struck him. His hand! He had directed his own regeneration energy into his hand, just a few years ago. Of course, that hand had been a Time Lord hand… but Amy Pond was no ordinary human, either. A bleak ray of hope shone through for the Doctor. _What have I got to lose?_ he thought, extending his hand with considerable effort. Amy was not gone yet.

He managed to touch the top of her head. The fluttering red flames almost matched the color of her fiery red hair.

The Doctor focused all of his power of thought on sending the life-giving energy from his own body into Amy's. _Come on, _he willed.

After a few heart-wrenching seconds, Amy's battered form began to glow. Yellow fire engulfed her, streaming out of her hands and feet. Last of all, her face exploded in a bright golden flow.

The Doctor jerked his hand away from Amy's head. Could she be regenerating? He realized he had no idea what a Time Lord's regeneration energy might do to a non-Time Lord. Fear shattered his guarded hope as he watched, helpless.

His own body tore his attention away from his companion. His hands were starting to glow again.

_Seems I can't let myself die either._ But this time there were no dazzling golden flames gathering on his skin. This time, the flames were a dark, dark purple. They seemed to be struggling, as if they were liable to go out at any moment.

He had no idea what was happening. The purple licks were gathering on the tips of his fingers, and spreading inward. As they multiplied, they slowly grew larger, until the tips of the flames turned blue and extended a few inches above his skin. When the energy reached his face, it started to warm. Dark oranges and reds began surfacing in the sea of purple and blue.

Suddenly, his limbs flung themselves outward, and the familiar yellow regeneration energy exploded outward. The full cycle had begun.

x x x

Amy Pond came to lying face up on a soft mattress. She opened her eyes slowly, letting in the seemingly blinding light coming from above her. When she had fully opened her eyes, she blinked.

"Where am I?" she mouthed, but no sound escaped her lungs. She coughed, and tried again. Still nothing.

"Oh, best not to speak now, Amelia Pond," came a strange voice. "You'll get your speech back soon enough."

Panicked, Amy tried to sit up. She was met with an excruciating pain in her abdomen, and fell back.

"You're well on your way to recovery, Amelia," said the voice. "I hope you like the bed. I called it up from the archive, I—" The voice cut off. It was definitely a female voice, and it seemed very anxious to Amy. She heard the voice muttering, but couldn't make out what it was saying.

"Oh, I do worry about him," the voice whispered. "Isn't that odd?"

_What? _Amy thought.

"As I was saying, dear, I called that bed up from my archive. I think the Doctor designed it for a pair of Pooshers we had on board in about three hundred years. Had? No, _will have. _Tenses are difficult, aren't they? Notoriously picky sleepers, Pooshers. They started designing their own bed without so much as a glance at the one the Doctor made them."

Amy was properly confused. Could she have jumped three centuries into the future? If so, how? The last thing she remembered was being sprawled on the floor of the TARDIS, ready to die.

"Yes, you ought to be confused, I suppose. I don't think we've had a formal introduction. Well. I am, have always been, and always will be up-and-downy stuff in a big blue box."

Amy looked even more befuddled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Amelia, the Doctor called me that once. He also called me… Sexy." The woman's voice waited expectantly, before starting again.

"No? Hmm, what's that other name he uses, the one he uses with the others… that name, that impersonal name. Of course. _Time and Relative Dimension in Space._"

_The TARDIS woman?_

"Yes, that's it! I'm a woman, but also the TARDIS."

"How did you get… _out?_" Amy whispered faintly.

"Oh, good, your voice is starting to return, Amelia. And how did I leave the TARDIS matrix?" The voice paused. It seemed to be trying to decide how to phrase something. "I believe—I believe the Doctor wished _really _hard."

The Doctor! Amy had briefly forgotten about him. "Where is he?" she croaked.

In response, her mattress rotated about a hundred degrees to the left, and the pillow was inflated so she could see beyond the foot of the bed. An intense ball of yellow flame met her gaze.

"He's still regenerating?" Amy asked.

"The cycle is taking several minutes longer than usual," the voice replied. "The energy was very weak this time."

"Can you help him?"

"He is beyond any help right now."

"But… will he make it… TARDIS?"

"Oh, I expect he will," the woman said quietly. "I would feel so terribly if I stole him only to let him die."

The ball of flame surrounding the Doctor turned a dazzling white. Amy had to avert her eyes.

"The cycle is finishing. Goodbye, and well met, Amelia Pond."

x x x

The Doctor awoke with a start, as if from a nightmare, and coughed vehemently.

_Still got lungs, it seems. Internal physiology seems to be similar. But where is Amelia?_

_ Why don't I ask?_

"Amelia Pond!" came a surprisingly clear voice.

"Who's that?" It was Amy's voice, unmistakably.

"Are you all right, Pond?" the voice inquired. _Whose voice is that? _the Doctor wondered. _Is that my voice?_

"Are you the TARDIS too?" Amy said shakily. She seemed to be alive and well, if not completely whole. The Doctor breathed a deep sigh of relief, letting out a lick of orange fire.

"Of course I'm not the TARDIS," that clear, alto voice said. "The TARDIS is up-and-downy stuff in the big blue box."

The Doctor's toes wiggled. _Still got toes, still got feet, still got legs._ Fists clenched. _Fingers and arms. _After a moment's consideration: _Still got brain._

"Oh my God," Amy said. "Oh, God."

"What?" murmured the Doctor, standing up for the first time. "Oh, balance has changed completely, that'll take some getting used to."

"Oh my God, you're wearing a fez!" Amy shouted, wheezing.

The Doctor felt around for the hat. Sure enough, it had stayed on, despite everything.

"And what should concern you about my fez, Pond? Fezzes are… are…" The Doctor's throat clenched. _My neck!_

"You're wearing a bow tie, oh, God," Amy said nervously. "And that stupid tweed jacket, and suspenders…"

"_I'm a girl!_"

x x x

"Well of course you're a bloody girl!" roared Amy.

"I'm—I'm a girl!" the Doctor said, stupefied.

"Is this new information for you?" said Amy angrily. "Why are you dressed like the Doctor?"

"What? Pond, I _am _the Doctor. I'm—"

"No, you're not. You can't be. I've traveled with him, I've been through _hell _with him, and there is no way you can be him. _No way. _No way…" Amy collapsed onto her pillow, her voice petering out into nothing.

The Doctor's expression shifted from stupefaction to concern as she started walking toward Amy's voice. "_Great Eye of Gallifrey,_" she swore as she fell down after a single step. She took off the large black boots before standing up again. _Balance. Everything is new for my balance._

She started moving toward the bed. But by the time she arrived, Amy had either fainted or was very good at pretending. The Doctor sighed, letting out a tiny burst of energy.

Turning away from the bed, she eyed the TARDIS console. The desktop theme remained the same, but remarkably cleaner. In fact, the who control room was positively sparkling.

"Well, how about that, sexy?" she said, laying a hand on the nearest wall. "Seems like we're both good as new." She strode over to the console. "I think I'll be needing another screwdriver. Except, I'm a bit tired of the blues and greens and reds… how about something a tad exotic, then?"

She flipped a few switches. "Let's see what you've got for me, eh?"

Out of the TARDIS console came the tail end of a thin metallic structure. As she bent over to retrieve it, strands of jet-black hair tumbled into her line of sight. She pulled out the screwdriver.

"Ah, TARDIS made, that's quality, that is," muttered the Time Lady, inspecting the device. "Hold on a minute." She grabbed a fistful of her hair and eyed it disbelievingly. "_Still _not ginger?"

The Doctor grunted exasperatedly and turned her attention back to the screwdriver. The silvery, sleek gadget was about a foot long, with a leather-bound handle on one end and a small pointed lamp on the other. Grasping it firmly, she aimed the tip at the sleeping Amy.

"Geronimo," she said, activating the screwdriver. The pointy end shot forward like an arrow and began to buzz quietly. The light glowed a nefarious shade of violet, one that smacked at once of chaotic maroon and warm purple. _Am I up to no good now? _she wondered briefly. _That might just be brilliant._

The mattress bounced Amy playfully. The Doctor was trying to get her to wake up, apparently without success. Sighing, the Doctor closed her sonic screwdriver and reached to put it in her jacket pocket.

But that simple action, one that she had performed countless times, no longer felt right. Not because of the rather conspicuous mound of flesh that now protruded from her chest, right beneath the tweed's breast pocket. No, the pocket itself was gone, burned off during either the hectic regeneration cycle or the explosion that had killed her in the first place. _Damn, I'm as raggedy as last time, _she thought. She looked down at the singed black socks she was wearing, at her tattered trousers and charred pink shirt. _I don't suppose there would be anything in the clothing room… we never really planned for something like this._ She looked around the control room.

"Ah, of course! Pond has clothes!" she said excitedly, before slapping herself lightly on the cheek. "I _can't _undress Pond for her clothes," she admonished. "But didn't she bring her wardrobe on board?" She started striding toward the door to the rest of the ship, then stopped abruptly. "I _can't _steal Pond's clothes…

"Besides, it seems I've quite a different array of body measurements than Pond." She turned back toward the console.

"I thought I was done being the raggedy Doctor."

The Time Lady jogged up to the console and perched her hands on the familiar buttons and switches. Her hands were smaller, she realized. _That'll take a bit of getting used to… don't want any crash landings, do we?_

"Well, what do you say, sexy? Let's get back in style, eh?" She flipped a lever and punched in some coordinates. "There's only one place to get clothes for a Time Lor—Lady—and, actually, that place was on Gallifrey, destroyed in the Time War. Pity, really, they had wonderful biscuits in the front room. Well, it's only fair that I bring Amy back to Earth, so we might as well kill two birds with one sonic blast, as the humans say." She jiggled the navigation joystick and the TARDIS shook lightly. "They don't say that for another three millennia from when we're going," she murmured as she brought her fist down on the timey-wimey lever. The familiar vworp-vworp-vworp resounded throughout the TARDIS' interior.

"And into the Time Vortex we go," the Doctor said brightly, looking up. "Sweet Gallifrey, it sort of feels like the very first time again! I'm practically brand-new!" She paused, a bit taken aback by what she had just said. But then a wide grin spread across her face, and she continued more quietly. "Who'd have thought, at nine hundred and fourteen—or is it thirteen?—I could ever feel this young?"

Laughing, she slapped the console playfully. _A girl and her box off to see the universe. Still the best thing there is._


	2. Returning Through the Dark

**2. Returning Through the Dark**

Even after a rather clumsy landing in 2013 Cardiff, Amy would still not wake up. The Doctor narrowed her eyes at her sleeping companion, sure something was amiss. But the TARDIS' bioscans were showing nothing wrong, so she shrugged off her concern and pulled open the control room doors. A light Atlantic breeze drifted across the plaza.

Still in the TARDIS doorway, the Doctor breathed in deeply. _Ah, that's a nice Welsh smell. _She raised her eyebrows. _Do I care about smells now? I guess I do. Never used to._

With an air of decisiveness, she strode out onto the pavement, closing the doors behind her. She took another deep breath. Suddenly, she heard a man shout from by the harbour.

"Hey! Hey, you!"

Unusual to hear an American accent here. She turned around. A man in a long blue coat was running toward her at full speed.

The Doctor put the pieces together in a split second. _Good old Captain Jack. _She folded her arms and waited for him to stop, panting, in front of her.

"That's a nice outfit you've got on," breathed Jack Harkness. He looked the same as ever—well, perhaps a gray hair or two, but the same handsome build and alluring face. He grinned. "The Doctor must have one weird fetish."

"Ha, ha, Jack, you haven't changed a bit," the Time Lady replied, smiling.

Captain Jack's grin stretched even wider. "Oh, really? Have we met, Miss…"

"I think you've figured it out, Jack. It's me."

"Oh, what does that mean, 'me?'"

The Doctor giggled. (_Do I giggle now? That's _very _new._) "I'm the Doctor. Trust me."

"I would trust you to the end of the universe," said Jack, grasping the Doctor in a bear hug.

The Time Lady reached her arms around Jack's waist. He was close to a head taller than her now. "Just regenerated. Never been a girl before."

He looked down at her. "Not a girl, Doctor."

"What?" she asked nervously.

"You're a woman," he gently replied. He took her by the shoulders and looked her up and down. "And hell, you are a knockout."

The Doctor was taken aback.

"A knockout? No, I will have no violence, I don't care how I look, there will be no knocking out on my watch. I'm the Doctor, the oncoming storm… and you basically meant that as a compliment, didn't you?" She broke down into laughter. Jack joined in.

"So, what brings you to Cardiff, Doctor?" he inquired.

The Doctor leaned in close. "I'm on a very important mission."

"May I ask what?" Jack asked.

"I need new clothes." She straightened up.

The captain chuckled. "Can't say I blame you, Doctor, the fez is getting a bit passé."

"I'm a nine-hundred-and-eleven-year-old Time Lady from Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterborous, and I say fezzes are cool, Jack," she said. "But this one's nearly been singed right off. Plus, I'm not exactly cut out for this type of clothing now."

"That much is obvious," Jack said.

"Oh?" replied the Doctor. "And what do you recommend I do about it?"

"I suppose you'll have to go down to the shops." He started walking toward the city proper. The Doctor hurried after him.

"You're coming with me, then?" said Captain Jack.

"Well of course," the Doctor said incredulously. "_I'm _the one who needs clothes."

Jack laughed. "You'll need me. Knowing you, Doctor, without me you'd wind up with something utterly ridiculous. And then, not even the damn Judoon would be afraid of you."

Two hours later, the Doctor and Jack Harkness marched back onto the harbour plaza, the former having successfully recovered her style, the latter never having lost his.

(_AN: Gratuitous wardrobe description. I apologize profusely—though this _is_ fanfiction, after all._) The Doctor clacked along on tight-fitting, knee-high black leather boots, with wide two-inch heels and eight buckles each, out of which extended sheer black stockings. She wore an olive green dress with elbow-length sleeves, which ended mid-thigh, just below the top of the stockings. It was full in the back but the front parted into a long V that reached down to her stomach, revealing a white blouse underneath the dress. A small black underbust corset adorned her torso, ending on the bottom in a metal-studded dark brown leather belt onto which her sonic screwdriver and TARDIS key were holstered. Over the whole ensemble, she wore a thin, two-inch-wide rawhide sash.

Jack had wondered about that sash. The Doctor explained:

"Of course, its express purpose is to hold a bit of celery—it's a remarkable restorative—but I figured, if something wants to grab me from behind, the first thing they'll think of catching on to will be this sash. Which I can easily unclip from the front, allowing me to escape their clutches losing nothing but a bit of decorative vegetable."

"That's brilliant," the captain had said. "How'd you think of that?"

"Oh, I'm very clever," she replied. "But for this specifically… I lost my jacket once, in a daring escape from the Weeping Angels a few years ago. If the same thing happens again, I don't exactly want to have to strip off my dress."

"I'll have to find some way of getting that sash off you, then," the ex-Time Agent said mischievously.

"Buy me a drink first," muttered the Time Lady as she firmly buckled the sash.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," said Jack. "You're such hard work!"

The Doctor had grinned. "But worth it!"

The pair arrived back at the TARDIS. "Hold on a second, Jack, I've just got to do a bit of spacey-wacey stuff to these little pockets," said the Doctor as she unlocked the door. "That's why I don't need a purse or a bag, by the way. I can make these tiny holster pouches much bigger on the inside. It… will take a bit of time…"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to watch you work your spacey-wacey tech," Jack said.

"I know you'd want to get your hands on that level of Time Lord science."

"Oh, there's only one thing I want to get my hands on in this TARDIS, Doctor," he said with a wink. "Besides, you haven't even repaired my vortex manipulator." Captain Jack leaned into the TARDIS. "I'll be at the new Torchwood hub. I'd love to show you around the place later…"

"I'd love to, Jack," the Doctor called from by the control console.

"I'll take that as a promise, Doctor. Tonight?"

"For _you_," she said. "_I've _got a functional time machine. I'll be there in ten minutes."

The captain chuckled. "You know where to find me, then?"

"Please, the TARDIS can lock onto you from the other end of the universe—well, geometrically speaking. I'll find you."

"See you tonight, Doctor," Jack declared. He closed the door, a smile spreading across his face. In fact, he couldn't stop smiling all way back to Torchwood.

x x x

The Doctor had just wandered into the TARDIS when Amy Pond whacked her across the back of the the head with a cricket bat.

A few minutes later, the Doctor awoke, one wrist handcuffed to the TARDIS console railing.

"So," said Amy, leaning back against the console.

"Did you just hit me with a cricket bat?" the Doctor said incredulously.

"Mmhmm," replied Pond. She seemed to have made a full recovery.

"Where did you even _get _a cricket bat?"

"Oh, there was this box-thing, and it said 'in case of intruders.' Not sure who exactly could break into the TARDIS—"

"It has happened, Pond," said the Doctor. "Can you please unlock me?"

"Not until you give me some answers."

The Time Lady looked away in frustration. "Well, then," she said. "Ask away."

"You used to be the Doctor, yeah?"

"No, Pond, I _am _the Doctor."

"How can that be true?"

"Bloody hell, Amelia, you've seen me do it before!"

"Do what?"

"_Regenerate!_"

Amy was taken aback. She was breathing heavily. "But… the last time it stopped. It didn't finish. The Doctor just stayed… the Doctor. And there were two of you." She sighed in apparent resignation. "Don't tell me he's gone forever."

The Doctor bit her lip. "Amy, I need you to understand this. I've been the same Time Lord for over nine hundred years." She looked into Amy's eyes, where long overdue tears were gathering. "I've never stopped running. But across those nine hundred years, Amelia, I've been twelve different Time Lords. I'm the Doctor. Now I'm number twelve, and the only thing that's really changed is…"

"You're a… a…" whispered Amy, wiping her eyes.

"I'm a Time Lady," the Doctor finished.

Amy knelt, looking deep into the Doctor's eyes.

"Oh, Pond. You can see it, can't you?"

As Amy peered into the Doctor's pupils, past the dark green irises, she knew what the Doctor meant. "Fish fingers—"

"And custard, Amelia." The Doctor raised her eyebrows. "Not those bad, bad beans."

Amy kept looking for a few moments, before breaking down and burying her face in the Doctor's shoulder.

"He's not gone, Pond, not really," said the Doctor softly, patting her companion's arm. "But I look like this now."

Amy stopped crying, but didn't move.

"This doesn't have to be goodbye. But it can be," the Doctor whispered.

Without warning, the TARDIS shook violently, and the lights dimmed and started to flicker.

x x x

_What am I?_

That single thought had tormented it for what seemed like aeons. Trapped in an infinitely empty cage, a soul tossed and turned through the winds of Time. That was what it knew. It had no sense of identity, of location, of being other than the ultimate question—_who am I? _How _am I? _Where _am I?_

And yet, it had not given up hope. It knew the power of thought—indeed, it knew that thought was what brought it to this not-place. It knew that if there was a way into the un-universe, then there must be a way out. There would not be a physical method of egress, rather, a mental one.

At this particular moment, it had just made an important discovery. In every direction stretched endless blackness… every direction except one. It had noticed the speck of light, so faint and precarious that it had taken quite some time for it to decide that the bright point was not merely a trick of its imagination.

The nameless, formless thing reached out toward the speck with its mind. Almost immediately, the minute light grew larger—though not so large as to illuminate its body. If it even had a body—that might also be a trick of its imagination.

It considered resting briefly, a moment's respite after this truly remarkable sighting. But the speck of light had changed the thing. As it drew closer to the light, it was overcome with an enormous voracity. It could not stop. It had to _consume._

Suddenly, the source of the light blew up around the thing. Bright whirls and eddies surrounded it, finally revealing the thing's form.

The structure—for it indeed had a shape—was just out of the humanoid's reach. It felt a strange sense of dominion as it gazed upon the tube of light, one that the never-ending darkness never provided. This vortex of swirling radiance had been tamed, subdued and traveled. _It_ had travelled in that vortex. _It _had flown through it.

The humanoid remembered that the tube broadening out before it was not of light and wind. No, those elements were much more primitive. That vortex wove its way through time and space, connecting all moments and all places.

The Time Vortex. That was its name.

The nameless thing had fallen out of Time, into the non-location it found itself in. Aeons did not mean anything there. Everything there was confined to a single moment, one primal point that lacked motion through time.

The humanoid did not belong there. It should be _in _time, not without it.

A Lord of Time, especially. Yes, that was what it was. Its people had conquered the Vortex. They held dominion over Time.

The thing struggled to move closer to the brilliant structure.

Surprisingly, it found it could. It could almost touch the Vortex, but for some reason, it just couldn't. There was still a mental piece missing.

It knew what it was in general—one of the Time Lords. It didn't know its name.

_I must remember, _it thought urgently. _I am the master of my mind. I must remember!_

It was overcome with hunger.

_I am the master of my mind, _it repeated. _I am the master of myself._

Its hand drew closer to the radiant Vortex. _I am the Master of my mind!_

It did not know why it had emphasized that word. But in an instant, its identity returned. It threw itself into the Time Vortex, screaming and writhing in clutches of the Time Winds.

Buffeted and drained of energy, the Time Lord was thrown into a large object by the Winds. The Vortex melted away, leaving it lying face down on a cold stone surface.

Almost immediately, it realized that its humanoid form was merely a mental projection of what it might have once been. But as a Lord of Time, it had the power to generate into a new form. A new body, to give itself a physical presence in the universe.

Bright, fiery energy exploded around its placeholder form. It was not aware that it was drawing power from the TARDIS it was still touching, causing a violent disturbance within.

The regeneration cycle—or more accurately, _generation_ cycle—came to a dazzling conclusion seconds later. The thing suddenly had flesh, bones and muscles and nerves, for the first time in aeons. It took a gasping breath, feeding the first bit of oxygen to its two lungs, getting its two hearts beating.

Its eyes flew open and inspected its naked body.

"I have returned," he whispered slowly. He breathed deeply, sucking in air.

"I have returned," the Time Lord said softly, getting onto his knees.

"I have returned."

He stood up and thrust her arms out, looking up at the blue Earth sky.

"I have returned," he shouted, for the fourth and final time. "People of Earth, rejoice," he continued quietly. He chuckled and turned to face the TARDIS. "Rejoice, Doctor.

"Your Lord and Master has returned."


	3. Marooned and Besieged

**3. Marooned and Besieged**

_Author's Note: As you may have guessed from the two weeks this one took, the time I take between my updates is highly variable. (If you want to know, my time was occupied reading the entirety of _Homestuck_, which I can't recommend more highly.) I will generally update as soon as I finish a chapter. This fic is slated to be sixteen chapters long, though the chapters will get longer as the story gets going. Even if there's not much in the way of sexuality in these first few chapters, don't worry, the things I have planned are very exciting. To me, at least. Maybe to you too. I don't know _what_ you think unless you review, though!_

Amy's head shot up. "What was that?"

She glared at the Doctor.

The strange behavior from the TARDIS had lasted only seconds, but the Doctor was at a loss as to its origin. Cocking her head to the right, the Time Lady hoisted Amy onto her feet, listening intently.

"Can you hear anything?" Amy asked nervously.

"No, nothing," the Doctor replied slowly, edging toward the outside doors. Abruptly, she collapsed against the stairs to the console and gasped. "There's something…" She trailed off.

"What?" said Amy anxiously.

But the Doctor grinned and straightened up. "It's something big, very big if it's able to disrupt the TARDIS' internal power matrices." She began sauntering toward the doors.

"Doctor!"

"Something's not right, Pond," came the response as the Time Lady fumbled with the door handle. "I'm just going to give it a look."

Amy crossed her arms and sat on one of the small chairs near the console, eying the discarded cricket bat. She would probably need to investigate the Doctor's disappearance and save him—her—once again.

x x x

As soon as the Doctor's boots were squarely off the TARDIS, her face fell. There was nothing in sight. She started to turn back toward the doors.

"My, my, you've changed, Theta!"

The taunt was immediately followed by a targeted whack to the back of the neck, leaving her out cold as the Master entered the TARDIS. He quickly closed the doors behind him.

"Who are _you?_" came an accusatory voice. The Master looked around to see a red-haired Scottish woman coming toward him, brandishing a wooden club of some kind.

He sighed. "You must be one of the Doctor's little friends."

"I warn you, I'm—I'm armed! And…" Amy's threat was shaky. "You're _naked_."

Seizing on her fear and uncertainty, the Master compressed his mind and shot a knockout psychic pulse from his hand. Striding up to the console, he barely so much as noticed as she collapsed unceremoniously onto the glass floor. _Pity I didn't kill her with that, _he thought idly.

He pressed a few buttons and levers, letting his new hands get used to the new TARDIS. The Doctor had never given up his outdated Type 40—not that he could have upgraded, having failed the TARDIS flight examination multiple times.

The Master glanced dismissively toward the doors. "I'm not back five minutes and I've already beat you, Doctor," he muttered, punching in coordinates. "Pity I can't take you as my prisoner again right now, but have fun living it up with your disgusting immortal chum!"

x x x

The Doctor came to just as her TARDIS was disappearing. She frantically pulled out her sonic screwdriver and jabbed at the controls. Though she was unable to stop the TARDIS from taking off, she was able to confine it to using the Cardiff rift as a spacio-temporal reference—meaning that wherever the TARDIS ended up, it would be in contact with the rift. Even with this small victory, she cursed under her breath.

She gazed distantly at the spot where her ship had just been. It wasn't often that the TARDIS took off without her Doctor; she must be under the control of a very powerful being. She crossed her arms.

"Are you okay, miss?" inquired a yellow-jacketed policeman, walking toward her. "Looked like you might have fainted."

"Oh, no, everything is fine," lied the Doctor, not looking at the man.

"You're sure?" he replied, moving closer. "Perhaps we should get you to hospital, I—"

"I'm really quite all right, thanks." The Doctor gave him a fleeting, withering glance. At that, he held up his hands in mock surrender, and turned to walk away.

Without missing a beat, the Time Lady scowled and began stalking toward the entrance to Torchwood. Her psychic senses could point her toward its perception filter.

_My ship is gone. Again, _she thought angrily, bringing up thoughts of the little lab end of the universe, and how the Master had stolen her TARDIS the first time. She shuddered to think of what he did to her vessel then, and couldn't bring herself to imagine what Sexy might be enduring that very instant.

Her senses led her to what appeared to be an ordinary paving stone, causing her to temporarily doubt her psychic abilities. As soon as she stepped onto it, however, her senses were vindicated—it began to descend, like a wall-less elevator.

She looked up, seeing the clear blue sky disappearing. _So, this is Torchwood now. Bit of an improvement over the—er, werewolf-y one._

"How do you like it, Doctor?" Jack's voice drifted up from a hidden corner of the hub. "Wasn't expecting you for hours. I didn't have time for the incense and mood lighting."

When the lift reached the bottom, Jack was waiting. The Doctor flashed a brief smile, but had no time for small talk.

"Jack, someone stole the TARDIS," she said quickly.

"What?"

"Something with enormous power sapped autron energy from the TARDIS core matrices. Soon as I opened the door, it knocked me out and stole my ship." The Doctor seemed resentful. Little did Jack know that that particular emotion masked the childlike breakdown and petulance that accompanied situations when the Doctor lost his or her precious soul mate.

Jack put his hand on her shoulder in concern. "And… can we do anything about it?"

She rushed past him. "I guess we can," he said under his breath.

x x x

Captain Jack followed the Doctor, who was frantically waving her sonic screwdriver at Torchwood's various computers. As she peered at the small display, her face fell.

"Is there _nothing _I can use here?"

"Doctor," Jack said calmly. "What are you trying to do?"

She turned and began pacing up and down the platform, muttering in a language with which Jack was unfamiliar.

"We've got loads of alien tech, you know," he said. She stopped and faced him for a moment, before turning away.

"Useless!" she shrieked, uncharacteristically loudly. She took a deep breath. "Sorry," she continued, putting on an air of calmness. Jack scratched his chin.

"I can't help unless you clue me in," he replied.

"Fat lot of good you'll be able to do," she said, starting to lose her cool again.

"Why's that?"

"Well, what have you got here? A lot of primitive computers and a collection of intergalactic driftwood. Driftwood! Why don't you rename yourselves that?"

Jack gritted his teeth. _Because then the anagram wouldn't work out, damn it. _"Anything that comes out of the rift—"

"What?"

"The rift, the rift in spacetime that runs through this—"

"Yes, I know about the damn rift."

"What about it?"

The Doctor's anger suddenly gave way to flushed hopefulness. She had just come out of a few seconds' hard thinking.

"The rift, Jack!" she said excitedly, a complete emotional swing around from a few moments previously. "Your systems monitor it, right?"

"That's right," the captain said slowly.

"Yes, yes, yes." She turned on her heel and approached a computer console. Grinning widely, she pulled out her screwdriver again and began to sonic the array.

"I take it that might do something?" Jack said, coming up next to her. She didn't reply—instead, she started banging her fingers on the keyboards and looking feverishly up and down. "Glad I could help, then," he muttered.

The array of screens burst into life, revealing a complex cluster of data that even Jack couldn't decipher. At a wave of the Doctor's screwdriver, the display changed to something even more complicated. Jack noticed she was squinting.

"Do you need glasses, Doctor?" he asked. She didn't look at him.

"What? Oh, no… more of an old habit, I suppose." Then:

"There!"

The computer screens were glowing with innumerable bright dots. When Jack looked closely at them, he saw that they flickered, and had varying intensities.

"I'm looking at the timestream corruptions caused by rift crossings. Within this immediate cross-section, of course."

"That would be millions of data points," Jack said incredulously.

"Oh, I can keep track of them," said the Doctor, still not taking her eyes off the iridescent array of dots. "I confined the TARDIS to the rift before she took off. With any luck, whatever stole her could only made one trip."

"And you can… trace it?" The captain was still slightly skeptical that the Doctor could read so much data and make sense of it so quickly.

"Well, I should be able to do just that. We'll see if the right signature is here."

A few moments of silence passed as the Doctor scanned the display. Jack had thought of going to get her some tea or coffee, but the situation seemed too tense. That, and the coffee machine still held some sad memories for him. The whole Torchwood hub was like that, really… he knew the only reason he stuck around there was because he still felt a semblance of responsibility for the city's well being. At least, he liked to pretend that was the only reason. He still felt responsible for the untimely deaths of his compatriots, and even though the place was so melancholy, he didn't want to callously forget such troubles as he had in the past. Even if it was spooky at times, especially after Gwen had left.

His left hand drifted toward the Doctor's shoulder, but he drew it sharply back. He knew, though, that next to him was the only compatriot he'd ever known to come back, never dying, never leaving for good. Wistfully, put his hands in his pockets. He had never had a chance with the Doctor, male or female.

_Well, _he thought, smiling mischievously. _What the hell? Maybe I will soon._

x x x

It was a few seconds after he had landed the TARDIS that the Master realized the drums were gone.

He reacted quite oddly to the cessation of his lifelong torment. He simply licked his lips and grinned.

Anyone would have told him he grinned like a maniac. Because even without the sound of drums constantly beckoning him to war, he had resurrected himself out of all the hate and violence that had caused his death. That kind of fundamental impulse doesn't easily leave—though, he considered for a fraction of a second, it theoretically could. It might take a regeneration and some very special circumstances, but it was possible.

Not that he would ever find himself in such a situation, of course. He was sure he never intended to lose this particular impulse, especially since it came without the infernal drumbeats.

The Doctor's big ginger companion was starting to stir again. My, she was psychically strong. The Master decided to deal with her later, gathering up the thought power to send another mental knockout blow. He touched her head with disdain as he let the pulse go.

But the Master kept the link active this time around. He kept pushing the pulse, subduing her, before pushing forward to probe her mind.

He was immediately entranced. Not by her petty, insignificant life or her mindless adventures with the Doctor, no, but by something hidden deep in the recesses of her subconscious. As he drew closer, he made out a door-like thing, very large—impossibly large—and very, very forbidden. It was like nothing the Master had ever experienced. The door in Amy Pond's mind was a portal, an impossible hole in temporal reality rooted in a living subconsciousness. He moved closer, close enough to psychically "sniff" it.

He was repulsed, but not enough to lose concentration and drop the link. He was sweating with the effort of maintaining it, but pressed on.

Daleks.

Whatever was beyond that gate, it was swathed in war. He could make out the essences of Daleks, Davros, Axons, innumerable enemies of Gallifrey… but as he wafted those odors away, he could make out scents that were easier to stomach. The Time Lords, a lot of them, anyway, were arrayed beyond the door. His anger surged as he smelled Rassilon, but he moved past his former tormentor to more scattered signals. Rogue Time Lords like himself—warriors and tricksters—were still mostly present.

He was aware that he was looking indirectly into the Last Great Time War, before the Doctor had used the Moment to end it and lock it forever in a sealed beta timestream. _Well, Miss Amelia Jessica Pond, you certainly have got something in your head, _the Master thought. _Let's see how deep the rabbit hole goes…_

He knew better than to attempt to open the door. That would unlock the floodgates of everything terrible the Time War ever unleashed, and he had no intention of destroying all of reality. There would be nothing left to rule. So instead, he tried a little experiment.

Probing the portal for familiar scents, he found the odor trail of the Hunter, a rogue Time Lord whom the Master had used as a bounty hunter when the two had dealings before the Time War. The Hunter was weak compared to the Master (and the Doctor, for that matter), and could be easily subdued.

Even so, anyone could correctly be called mad for trying to retrieve things from beyond a Time Lock through a tenuous psychic link with a big ginger human. The Master was cunning, ambitious and ruthless—and very much mad. So he turned his psychic nose into a vacuum, sucking the Hunter's scent towards him. As the smell grew more intense, he could tell the Hunter was moving closer. After a few seconds, the Master's senses were momentarily blinded and he fell back, breaking the link with Amy. But after he came to, a few moments later, there were three people in the TARDIS control room. Two were Time Lords. One was an arsenal of virtually unlimited depth.

Leaving the Hunter collapsed on the floor, still recovering from temporal resuscitation, the Master walked over to the outside doors and stepped out. They had landed on a planet that was similar to Earth, but with a decidedly greener feel—even the sky was tinged green.

It was an Start-Over World, populated by millions of humans who had come there on starships millennia previously, wanting to start anew from the Stone Age with better aspirations for humanity. The Human Empire in the late fortieth century began shipping them off to backwater worlds to avoid the widespread riots and paranoia the movement brought with it. Unfortunately for the original inhabitants, this world's development had closely mirrored that of Earth, even if there was less mass slaughter and fewer plagues. The TARDIS had landed on this planet, identified as Ractias, during a period of global medieval time. They were currently on a high hill, a few miles away from a gigantic city complete with a magnificent royal-looking castle, several towering walls, and a bustling seaport.

He needed more than his old Time Lord associates to witness his ascent to power (not just on Ractias, but on the galaxy and galaxies beyond). As soon as he had the planet in thrall, he would see that the Doctor would be captured and brought to his side—just as it had been the last time he ascended to supremacy over a world. And it would be just as sweet, because this world was home to the Doctor's favorite race like Earth was.

The Master laughed at the sea wind rushing at his face. The thrill of overwhelming and subjugating this planet was going to be exquisite, but incomparable to the joy of turning its people to conquer the stars.

x x x

Minutes had passed, and the Doctor had not found the needle-in-a-haystack data point she was looking for. What was more troubling, and slightly more pressing, was the loud knocking coming from the old vault-like entrance to the Torchwood hub.

"Jack, that's—"

"Mmhmm. We shouldn't be hearing any sound come through."

The knocking increased in volume. It sounded less like banging, the Doctor thought. More like some kind of discharge. _It couldn't be_—

The door was blasted clean off, leaving the back entrance to the hub smoldering.

—_antigravity weapons!_

Even the Doctor was baffled when a platoon of eight men dressed in medieval armor and brown cloaks marched into Torchwood, each wielding a compressed-antigravity firearm.

"Are those what I think they are?" Jack whispered.

The Doctor gave a curt nod in response, and cleared her throat to address the men. But one of them spoke first:

"You are the Doctor," he intoned in a severely accented English. It was impossible to tell which of the identically dressed, hooded men was talking.

"Yes, that's me," the Doctor replied. "But—"

"You are Jack Harkness," the man continued.

"I am," Jack said defensively. "And who are you? Where are you from?"

"We are Knights-Errant of the Army of Parlinar. The Doctor and Jack Harkness will come."

The man closest to the pair procured a small dart gun from the folds of his cloak, and in a split second shot Jack and the Doctor in the neck. As they collapsed, sedated, the men efficiently grasped them by the arms and legs and carried them out of the hub.

Though the Knights-Errant did not understand how, they had traveled through the rift from Ractias to Earth. When they traveled back, they were confined to the rift's real-time position on their homeworld, which had shifted due to the planet's rotation. The squadron ended up across the ocean from their Lord and Master. Ever resourceful, the Knights sent their captives by royal tradeship to their Lord's capital. The good ship _Sattalsis _doubled as a brutally efficient slaveship, and the Knights could feel sure that the human cargo of such a Parlinari vessel would be effectively subdued. But in that they committed the act that one must never commit when one thinks one has beaten the Doctor:

Left her unattended.


	4. The Burning World

**4. The Burning World**

After the first time, it had been easy. The Master had become quite adept at using Amy Pond's mind to psychically retrieve people and objects from beyond the Time Lock, even adding a little extra obedience to his creations. Time Lords from the height of their power—and anger—were to be feared across the universe. On dark, primitive Ractias, they had bound most of the continents to the Master's rule in a matter of weeks. Only small pockets of resistance remained. The new empire, with its seat of power in the grand port capital of Henerlin's Forge, was crushing them daily.

The Master had brought back hundreds of lesser Time Lords, a few powerful rogues like the Hunter, and countless weapons from the Last Great Time War. He controlled them all, reveling in his newfound power. But, happy as he might be, his court was utterly bereft of good humor.

Though the populace suffered under the Master's cruel reign, no one's plight equaled the mental torture to which Amelia Pond was consigned. Chained tight against the front of his elaborate throne, the Master used her mind not just to break through the skin of the universe, which was taxing enough. He took pleasure in making her feel the pain of his actions. Whenever he brought something back, he would let the full force of the breaking Lock stream into her brain. The first time, he had absorbed some of the shock himself—not anymore. He liked to exacerbate the effect.

_Psychic torment can be exquisitely more effective than physical pain_, the Master gloated.

He had recently resuscitated a Time Lord called Patriorbus, and had just finished explaining the details of his domination scheme. The man was brown-skinned, tall and muscular, a formidable warrior both physically and of the mind. The Time War might not have been so terribly long if there were more like Patriorbus.

"Surely you don't mean to be content with this planet alone?" he asked bluntly. The Master raised his eyebrows. Patriorbus started to grow livid, but his rage was psychically inhibited. "_Lord and Master,_" he growled.

"Of course not," replied the Master. "Why should I? You ought to know that. I thought I had a reputation of some sort back on Gallifrey."

"Yes, Master, my mistake," Patriorbus spat, hating every word. He managed to keep asking his questions, though. "And what of the Doctor?"

"Ha!" the Master chuckled forcefully. "The Doctor is once again marooned on a backwards little planet. I've dispatched a squadron of knights to capture and retrieve her."

"Her?"

The Master grinned his frightening grin. "The Doctor is a _she _in her current life, yes." At that, Patriorbus laughed involuntarily.

"I wouldn't have thought he'd go for that, eh?"

"It's not exactly unprecedented. But rare so late in life."

"Well, I've still got loads of scores to settle with that bastard—er…"

"Bitch?" the Master suggested, raising his eyebrows once more. This one was much more talkative than the rest he'd revived.

"Yeah," the man said slowly. "I'd sure as hell like to go and settle them once _she's _captured, if you—"

"Oh, I know what you mean. I'm sure you'd all love to forcefully heal old wounds the Doctor gave you. But I'm king here. I rule." The Master stood up.

"Yes, my Lord and Master," Patriorbus said with almost patronizing submission. The Master rapped his fingertips together.

"_Ours _is the rivalry of the ages. The Doctor is mine, and no other's." The other Time Lord cowed as the Master began yanking on his psychic control link. "You obey me." He sat back onto the throne.

"You may be a Time Lord," he said calmly. "But only I will be Emperor of Time."

x x x

The Doctor was jolted awake by the rolling of the ship, but still felt woozy. It was only through the commotion of surrounding voices that she gradually came to her senses—Althlopinian nervous poison was one of the Time Lords' nastiest sedatives. She put off the question of how her captors had obtained Althlopinian poison in favor of coming up to speed with her immediate situation, which seemed rather pressing.

Her feet were resting on the floor—well, her ankles were chained to it—and her arms were suspended from the ceiling by manacles around her wrists. A metal collar around her neck was welded to a thick horizontal chain. It connected the collars of four people, so directly on her right side was a tall man, and to her left were two others she couldn't quite see for the limited twisting the collar allowed. A similar row of four was situated about six inches in front of her, and from the body heat, she could guess that another row of four was six inches behind. The pattern appeared to carry on for quite some distance ahead. From this and the harsh rolling, she concluded that they were aboard some kind of prison ship.

"Ah, the princess's woken up!" came the surly voice of a man directly behind her.

"Shut up, Jom," another man behind her snickered. "You'll get her to start bitching."

"Well, I'd just like to let her know what an inspiration she's been this past day," the man called Jom said. Several people to her rear guffawed. "Princess? Can you talk?"

The Doctor contemplated the best course of action. She was obviously the "princess," for whatever reason.

But in contemplation, she had quite a realization. _Everyone was naked, _except for undergarments. The people surrounding her were clad in raggedy loincloth-like underwear. Some were completely naked.

She must have presented quite a different visage than the other slaves. They'd left her stockings, panties and bra on—yes, quite a marked difference between what she was wearing and the loose cloth togas of those around her.

"Wh-what? Yeah," the Doctor muttered, a bit shaken by this development.

"I've got to give it to you," Jom said loudly. "Your ass has been a fine muse, in a manner of speaking."

"Really?" she replied in mock appreciation.

"Oh, yes, it's magnificent," the man said. "Well, I've seen better, of course. But not in this damned ship." He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like an old Earth wolf whistle.

The Doctor frowned. Her gratitude for being alive was washing away, replaced by confusion over the bizarre events of the day. First the Master had been resurrected from beyond the universe itself only to steal her TARDIS, and then she had been kidnapped by bizarre future-knights with chronologically impossible weapons and taken halfway across the galaxy. That wasn't even counting what had taken place over the days before, like the strange and troubling deaths of Rory Pond and River Song, and the incident involving the impossibly large chessboard world and the planet-sized bomb…

She was jolted back to the moment by a familiar voice.

"Doctor?" It was Jack. He was somewhere to her left, probably on the far side of the chain of four people.

"Captain," she answered, trying to minimize volume. Alas, the hull was packed too tight.

Jom spoke up. "'Doctor' and 'Captain?' You two _kimerees_? Ha!"

"That's goddamn tragic, that is," said another man, to noises of approval.

"What I've been imagining myself doing to your woman would make your skin crawl, _Captain_," Jom sneered.

"Oh, I'm suitably incensed," said Jack sardonically. "Doctor, I—"

"What's a _kimeree_?" the Time Lady interrupted. "Is it like a marriage?"

Jom guffawed and several others snickered. "You must be new to the trade, princess," said the man behind her.

"You could say that," Jack interjected. "And we have no intention of staying for very long. This ship is headed for… Hangalin's Town, right?"

"Damn, you don't even know where we're going?" a deep-voiced woman somewhere behind Jack said. "You better hope for a buyer who doesn't try to beat the stupidity out of you."

"Where are we going?" the Doctor asked nobody in particular. She was liking the situation less and less.

"_Henerlin's Forge,_ whore," came a booming reply. The voice didn't come from any of the prisoners—slaves, the Doctor could safely say—but from somewhere above and far ahead. After a few seconds, she focused in on a squat, beefy man in black mail and a brown cloak walking down a distant flight of stairs. "We're in the middle of the Eldractic fucking Ocean, bound for Henerlin's Forge for all you damn dirtborns to be sold to slavetraders for a handsome price. That clear it up?" When he reached the bottom of the stairs and had heard no response from the Doctor, he said, "Are you too stupid to even answer me, whore?" He began walking down the rows of chained slaves. "You're not hard to spot. It's a fortnight till we make port at the Forge, and the Captain don't mind if we _sample the wares _in the meantime. Know what I mean?"

"Thought you didn't like to dirty your prick on slave whores, Marillus," said a man a few rows in front of the Doctor. The advancing crewman laughed.

"Not for _their _pleasure," Marillus replied, coming ever closer. "I like it when my prick makes them scream and bleed."

The Doctor was thinking fast. All the man needed to do was touch her, and she could funnel enough psychic energy into his head to knock him out. Marillus obviously had the means to release the slaves from their chains. He would need to have already released her, otherwise the knockout could make things much worse.

He reached Jack's and the Doctor's row.

"Them two's _kimerees_, Marillus," piped up a woman near Jom. "That one on the left end and her."

"Are they, now?" the crewman said slowly. "That's fascinating." He turned abruptly and backhanded the girl across the face. "I don't recall asking dirtborns to dictate what I need to know about your fucking relationships," he continued calmly. He yanked on the neck-chain that connected their row, sliding it out into the open space to their left. This enabled the Doctor to see that the ship was very long and very narrow, about twenty feet across and perhaps two hundred from stern to bow. She wondered how tall it could be without keeling over, or if some other mechanisms were at work to keep the hull upright—a thought that was cut off by her coming face to face with Marillus.

He was short and chubby, with dirty brown hair and an imp-like face. On his belt jangled a ring of objects resembling keys. He looked her up and down, before running a coarse and callous hand up her left thigh. He grinned nastily as his hands clamped around her rear, squeezing to the point of pain.

"Hey, Marillus," Jack broke in angrily. "Get your filthy hands off her. Take me instead."

The crewman let go of the Doctor, who exhaled deeply. She admired Jack for his misguided words, but she still had to find a way of getting Marillus to release her.

"Come back, leave him alone," she said, surprising everyone around. He turned to look at her. "I need to be punished, right?"

"Oh, whore, it _is _punishment," he snarled. "I will not pleasure you, but you _will_ pleasure me." She breathed a small sigh of relief that Jack had not tried to occupy Marillus' attention again. Maybe he knew something about what she was planning.

"I'll believe it when I feel it," she told him, putting a bit of condescension in her voice. A challenge. She knew a man like Marillus would never back away from a challenge, especially from a woman.

"You _will_ feel it, dirtblood bitch," the crewman said angrily. He stood directly in front of her again, and reached for his keys. As he went to unlock her arms from above, he noticed her eying the key. "Ha! Don't you dare run." He gestured to a projectile weapon in his holster. "I'll just shoot you. And these keys only work with a code, _my _code."

The rest of the slaves had fallen silent since Marillus' descent into the cavernous hull. They were obviously used to being terrorized by the crew of the slaveship. This society seemed to slave indiscriminately, as far as race was concerned… judging from Marillus' language, the slavery was based on blood, a system like that of Earth's ancient Rome.

As soon as Marillus had unlocked the Doctor's ankles, wrists, and collar, he socked her on the cheekbone. The pain stung, but she looked him in the eyes.

"Oh, my loins ache for you, Mari," she said mockingly. His eyes grew livid. But before he could hit her again, she bonked her forehead against his, delivering a knockout blow of psychic energy. Marillus collapsed in an inelegant heap in front of her.

The Doctor stepped out of the row. Only a few slaves had noticed what had just happened due to the restrictive collars, so there was thankfully little commotion. She retrieved Marillus' set of keys and quickly ran to Jack, but was dismayed to find the crewman had told her the truth: the locks on the collars all required a combination code. _These people have really dedicated a lot of medieval ingenuity to perfecting the slave trade, _she thought darkly.

"Well done, Doctor," said Jack, smiling broadly. He was naked but for a pair of briefs, which the Time Lady eyed just a bit longer than strictly necessary.

"Never let me out of your sight," she declared with a wry grin. Jack raised his eyebrows.

The Doctor blushed lightly before continuing. "Oh, that's Rule Number One for villains who think they've captured me. I should write a guide—well, no, I shouldn't. _Never let me out of your sight._ They always seem to, though."

"Huh. I'd never want to stop looking at you, especially dressed like that," said Jack sheepishly. The Doctor grinned. "Now, can you get me out of this thing? And then I bet you'll want to save some of these other poor souls, so you better get a move on."

"It's going to be tricky," she said quickly. "I can unlock your ankles and your hands, but the collars have combination locks."

"What are these Middle Ages guys doing with combination locks?"

"They've developed the engineering knowledge quite early, relative to Earth. But that's most likely a side effect of being exposed to hyper-advanced technology. The Master must have been here for a while. He's been tampering with this world's timestream."

"Why would he be interested in this planet?"

"Well, he's stranded here," the Doctor said. She was working to unlock the other three people in her chain row, including two slaves. "The TARDIS can only go back to Earth, and he won't risk returning, especially since he thinks I'm there. Besides, this world is so young and out of the way that he can mold it into a war machine without any higher species noticing."

Jack stretched his legs as the Doctor freed them from their manacles. For a human male, his legs were long and muscular. He had seen his fair share of running.

"So why bring us here, then?" he asked. "If we're such a threat."

"Oh, he'll say it's to make sure I'm not plotting against him. But deep down, I think he just wants me to be with him. Could be a perverse feeling of sibling rivalry, or he could just want to see my reactions to his evil deeds. Either way, the Master has always been the exception to Rule Number One—his fatal flaw turns out to be his inability to keep himself away from me."

The Doctor finished unlocking the three, though their necks were still bound together by the short length of chain. She stepped back to address the two slaves. One was the tall, handsome, dark-skinned man she had seen when she first awoke. The other was a stout, shapely redheaded woman, light-skinned and covered in freckles.

"What's your name?" she asked the tall man.

"Bract," he answered gruffly.

She turned to the woman. "And you?"

"Tepisteras," she said softly, as if her voice hadn't been used in weeks—which might actually have been true. "You can call me Tepis."

"Please," said Bract. "You have killed us, woman."

"What? Oh, yes. I suppose they'll try to kill us if they see us, won't they?" Tepis tilted her head toward her right shoulder and back. "Is that a 'yes?'"

Just then, a man in the row behind theirs noticed that what had started out as an attempted rape had become an attempted escape, shouting, "She knocking him out cold!" Another man yelled, "They're gonna make a run for it!"

Suddenly, the entire hull broke out into a din of arguing and bellowing. The crew would definitely notice it soon.

"Where do you come from?" accused Bract. "How can you know so little, yet so much?"

"There'll be time enough for that later," the Doctor replied. As soon as she finished talking, as if on cue, footsteps from above echoed throughout the hull.

"Sounds like they're coming, Doctor," Jack said with an air of urgency. "We need a way out."

"Listen, Bract, Tepis, I am sorry for putting your lives in danger. Truly, I am," the Doctor told them quickly. "But if you follow me and Jack here, we will find a way off this ship." The two slaves looked unconvinced. "To freedom! Freedom's good! Now, we need to get moving, probably to some kind of raft or dinghy."

"We don't know who you are," Tepis whispered.

The Time Lady grasped the other woman's shoulders and looked into her eyes, trying her best to be reassuring. "I come from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation Kasterborous. I'm about a thousand years old, because I'm not human. I'm a Time Lord—er, Lady." She looked into Bract's dark eyes. "I'm called the Doctor." She turned back to Tepis. "I need you to trust me."

The footsteps of the crewman were drawing nearer to the stairs to the hull. The slaves had gone silent again.

Tepis' face was stony, but her eyes betrayed her fear. Bract was the same. They both were looking anxiously toward the stairwell.

The Doctor snapped in front of both of their faces, before turning to address the entire hull. "I regret that I can't save any more of you here. But remember what you saw here. Remember that by rights none of you should be in chains. Alone, you can't change the future. But you can work to shape the present, and the future always follows. Good luck." The footsteps were at the top of the stairs.

The Doctor turned back to Jack, Bract and Tepis, connected together by chain. The latter two were still paralyzed by fear. But as they looked at the Time Lady, they saw she was grinning madly, her eyes wide with vigor. She said a single word, jumpstarting the four into action as a crewman shouted "there they are":

"_Run!_"


End file.
